


What can be said in fewer than three words?

by Malusdraco



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Aromantic Cyclonus, Aromantic Rodimus, Aromantic Whirl, Identity Angst, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malusdraco/pseuds/Malusdraco
Summary: Cyclonus knows the love songs of old. He can sing each tune, form his mouth around the words. They'd always meant something to him. So when it starts to sink in that the words seem off- that he cannot truly feel the meaning, he tries to come to terms with it on his own.Fortunately for him, he's not alone.





	What can be said in fewer than three words?

Something had happened- something momentous and _wonderful_ \- or it should have been, except that it felt like something seemed to be pulling him by his fuel tank down through the floor. He needed to piece it together, figure it out. Why didn’t it feel right? So, like most times, Cyclonus went to the single place he could contemplate (or sulk) without being noticed, bothered, or whined at to move out of the way- the bar.

Having taken up his usual seat in the furthest, most remote corner-table, Cyclonus tapped a couple claws on the outside of what was clearly an unmodified energon cube and stared intently at the table in front of him. This was, largely, what he did every time- field pulled in as far as it could go, silent, contemplating. The only thing that gave away his racing spark was his optics, wide and unmoving as he fought against the urge to despair.

Swerve, who’d gotten so concerned he actually left from his post behind the bar, shuffled up to him with the demeanor of someone who thought they were about to be hit. He’d seen Cy enough here to know something was up. The mech wasn’t usually this… stiff.

First attempt: the direct approach.

“Yo Cy-” Swerve stopped dead as the ruby-red optics focused in for a klik to deliver a halfhearted glare, “-clonus… ah… Sure you don’t want something?”

Too late, he was already back to staring at the table, didn’t even look angry anymore.

Second attempt: the fakeout.

“Listen, I mean, I’ll even make it free, on the house, whatever you want…” He trailed off, it didn’t look like the mech was even _listening_ at this point.

Third attempt: the _in_ direct approach.

Swerve looked at the tabletop, it was mostly clean, but he pulled a rag from subspace and set to wiping it down, without looking up at Cyclonus, he spoke quietly, “Listen, mech you’re kinda freakin me out to be completely fuckin honest. Don’t know what’s going on but hey if you wanna, iunno, talk or somethi-” 

“I _want_ to be left alone,” Cyclonus growled, field extending just enough to flare his anger towards the smaller mech. Unfortunately for him, it also pushed out a great deal of that nauseating unease.  

Swerve broke protocol and looked up at Cy. Optics wide, he blinked once, then set to scrubbing the table again with increased vigor. Now _that_ was truly not something he’d expected of Cyclonus- the mech always seemed so sure of himself. “Something’s up- are we- uh, are we all in danger…? Or-” 

Cyclonus straightened up and gave Swerve the meanest scowl he could muster- not a whole lot considering he was fighting back some other expressions that wanted to crawl out and set themselves on his face, “It’s personal. Leave.”

Once again Swerve looked up at Cyclonus, guilty smile on his face as he held his servos up in a placating gesture and backed off, “Oh- Okay, uh. Just don’t hurt anyone ‘cause of it.”

Cyclonus watched Swerve walk away and once again the weight of his thoughts sunk in. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unbelievably thrown by something- by himself. He should _have_ his priorities in order, after all he’d given the mech part of his _spark_ already- he’d saved his life, so why couldn’t he- His vents made a very uncharacteristic wheeze. Oh dear fuck was he not about to break down in a public place. It wasn’t like he was about to go back to his habsuite, either- Tailgate was probably still there. He brought a servo up to wipe his face and noticed a very gangly mech stomping his way over to the table.

“Whirl please-” Cyclonus grumbled as Whirl trotted even quicker and inserted himself in the seat opposite him, “I’m not- Now’s not the time.” 

“You’re not what?” Whirl said knocking a heel onto the table surface and crossing his other leg over that.

Cyclonus gave him an ornery look.

“Yeah yeah, those ‘I’m gonna kill you’ optics again,” Whirl retorted, “Tell me exactly how you’re gonna do it. Go on. I want every excruciating detail.”

Cy’s optics eased a bit, looking more worn out than anything else. The tip of Whirl’s pede twitched as he waited for a response. When it became clear none would be given, he stretched his arms back behind his helm and let out a sigh, “You really are in a bad mood. What happened- did someone die? Did you find out someone died? -What?”

“It’s- no.”

“What.”

Cyclonus was quiet for a while, looking up at Whirl’s single optic as he tapped the side of the cube again. “It’s none of your business,” he mumbled at last, looking back at the table.

“Oh come on,” Whirl said, cocking his helm condescendingly, “We are _so far_ up in each others’ business now, you _know_ that’s not true.”

Cyclonus didn’t say anything.

Whirl was quiet for a klik, looking towards the door, then leaned over to Cy and whispered, “Don’t look now but your boyf’s comin this way.”

At this Cyclonus straightened up, optics flaring _fear_ . But Tailgate was nowhere in sight. “You _bastard_ ,” He growled, aiming what was very much an angry look back at Whirl. 

Whirl wanted to laugh, he did, but there was something sad about it all. Cyclonus looked about ready for a tailspin if he wasn’t careful enough- and Whirl _knew_ he wasn’t. Damn emotionally constipated fool. Instead he simply watched quietly as the mech collected himself.

It took about a minute for Cyclonus to look at him again. His face was even more tired than before, “Why don’t you just leave me alone? I’m not here to _entertain_ you today.”

“Dish it.” Whirl said.

“Fuck you-”

“Just _tell me_ -”  
  
“ _FUCK_ YOU.”

Cyclonus’ voice carried through the bar, and was followed by a heavy silence, cut short after one agonizing moment by Whirl’s sudden cackling, “That’s what _I_ said.” 

A couple tense kliks and the babble from the rest of the bar returned. Whirl stopped laughing promptly and looked Cy straight in the optics, “Listen, mech, something’s up and whatever your way of dealing with it is, it hasn’t been going well, clearly, so spit it out before Mr-Small-And-Spunky actually comes in.”

Cyclonus was silent. 

“Is he _sick_ ,” Whirl prompted.

“No, he’s- he’s fine,” Cyclonus said, resigned. He looked down at the half-drunk energon cube, trying to muster up what he was about to say, “He... kissed me.”

Once again, Whirl pushed down his instinct to mock, “...Congratulations? Was it something after that… or?”

Cyclonus was silent, still looking at his drink.

“No? Did he, what, cop a feel during? Doesn’t seem the type but I don’t… know him that well.”

Cyclonus didn’t respond.

Whirl sighed, “It… didn’t feel right?” 

Cyclonus’ fingers clenched around the cube.

Oh Cyc. This felt familiar. “You were expecting something different?” He said, quietly, leaning forward enough he retreated his legs from the table, “Something better?”

Cyclonus made a strange noise, like something was trying to crawl through his vents.

“You got guilt, right? Feelin’ like a freak?” Whirl paused, considering, “Maybe a bit of a letdown?”

“Stop,” Cyclonus said, an edge to his voice.

“Listen I’m just gonna-”  
  
“Stop it”

“I’m just gonna keep _saying these things_ until you get it through your thick goddamn helmet that maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only person ever in the history of everyone to go through this,” Whirl said, patient as always, “Now do you want me to continue or do you just want to speak. It’s gotta come out- s’almost all the way out now.” 

Cyclonus wasn’t looking at him, and took a halfhearted sip from his cube.

“I’m trying to _help_ you, dimwit, and unlike any of the _other_ times I’m one of the few people on this ship- if this is what I think it is- who can actually say anything meaningful about it.” Whirl was getting mad now, almost, more exasperated than anything else, “Just- tell me what happened. Promise I won’t laugh.”

Cyclonus gave Whirl one more bitter look before speaking again, “He asked to kiss me and I said yes... and we did. For a while. And I…”

Whirl waited quietly, he knew what was coming next, or the gist of it, but Cy needed to say it himself.

“I was nervous the whole time,” he continued, fidgeting with the energon cube some more, it was so _unlike_ him to fidget and he hated it, “I thought, perhaps, that was a good thing but it... wasn’t.”

Whirl scratched at the side of his helm with a claw, yeah that made sense, “You… still like him though, right?”

Cyclonus’ vents caught and he quickly covered his face to prevent whatever was about to happen from happening. That was the question, the cold servo tickling its fingers around his spark chamber, threatening to turn his entire being to mere dust. Of _course_ he liked Tailgate. Why then, couldn’t he match his feelings? Why was he feeling so wrong?

Whirl sat back in his seat. Now _this_ hurt to see. He liked Cyclonus as his proud self, as a worthy adversary- not laid low by his own goddamn emotions. All this time and he’d never seen the mech so insecure, it felt _wrong_. And it didn’t help Whirl’d overestimated his ability to form coherent and helpful statements on the matter.

“Arright so,” Whirl started, then paused, trying to figure out how he was gonna say what he was thinking. He leaned over and rested his elbows on the table, fiddling with his claws, “once upon a time there was this watchmaker-thought he’d fancied another mech. They got together, they fucked, stayed with each other for a couple weeks and broke up. Rinse, repeat.” He paused, squinting, “...a lot more times. Then a couple months went by without anyone and he started to think about why he’d got to doing it in the first place. Didn’t ever feel quite right. Got to wondering why. Made a deal with himself not to try it again until he was really feelin’ it and.” Whirl’s arms went up, “well here he is today! Single. He’s had- why am I talking in third person- had a lotta issues since then but that, _that_ , I have not regretted.”

Cyclonus was silent but pulled his face out from behind his servo.

Whirl continued, “Couple times I got to thinking _why_ I thought studding myself out was a good idea. Young, dumb and that aside-” Whirl paused, squinting, this was more personal than he’d gotten with a lot of people. _Fuck_ that look on Cyc’s face though- wasn’t about to walk away from that. He leaned in closer and spoke quieter, “Felt like I _needed_ to. Obligation -s’what I’ve come to. Felt like…” He paused again, putting words to feelings, “Like I was searching for something that everyone else wanted- just because they wanted it and had me convinced I needed it too. Turns out I don’t.”

Was Cyclonus listening? He didn’t really look like it.

“Come on mech, s’more than I’ve told _Rung_ you could at least pay att-”

“I’m listening,” Cyclonus said, voice quiet.

Whirl’s optic narrowed in a frown, “What I’m sayin’ is- listen, alright, I know I’m fucked up- but this? It’s not. It’s normal. I _know_ it is. It-” He got distracted by a group of bots at the door, a distinct flash of red. “-Fuckin’ excellent. Just who I need.” He stood up, “Rod! Roddy! Rod!”

Rodimus was clearly too distracted by his company- what was clearly the aftermath of a security meeting minus Magnus.

“RODIMUS BASTARD PRIME,” Whirl shouted across the room, stepping a pede up onto the table to make himself even bigger than he actually was.

The table, not mounted securely to the floor, began to tip under his weight until Cyclonus braced his arms then most of his upper body to keep it stable. “Whirl, what the fuck are you doing?” He hissed through gritted teeth. He glanced over to the other side of the room and found Whirl’s shout had _definitely_ caught Rodimus’s attention. The mech gave the rest of his entourage what was clearly an “catch you later” and pointed himself in the two of their direction.

“I’ll have you know my fathers loved each other _very much,_ ” he quipped, striding between the tables. 

Whirl was gesturing something somewhat difficult to read with his massive claw, “Go get the- you know, the- the SCREEN.”

Rodimus jumped slightly and spent a few moments looking around- he knew the moveable privacy screens were somewhere, just had to- Ah! There they were, stored away in the corner. 

Cyclonus finally looked into Whirl’s optic, this was too much. He’d go figure this out on his own, thank you. He pushed himself up as if to leave just as Rodimus pulled the screen in front of the table.

“No, Cyc, sit,” Whirl said, using the tip of his claw to push a button on the wall that made a divider pop out, which he grabbed and extended out to the edge of the booth.

Rodimus picked up Whirl’s cue and pushed Cyclonus back into the seat with his hip. Cy’s wings went up in angry protest but he sat back down, firmly shoving himself into the corner as Rod took the outer seat. He didn’t like this at all-too confined. He _barely_ knew Rodimus- didn’t think Whirl much did either but evidently- 

“What’s up,” Rodimus said, at once upbeat and serious. 

“I think we’ve got another one,” Whirl said.

“For the _last time_ there’s no _possible_ way we could have a secret fighting tournament-”

“No, not that. Fuckssake.” Whirl grumbled, then gestured to Cyclonus, “Look at ‘im.”

Cyclonus kept his optics on the table but he could tell Rodimus was making an exaggerated inspecting gesture, leaning over to the side, finger on his chin. He made a concentrated effort to look as blank-faced as possible and ignore the scrutiny coming from his side. He felt like he was doing a good job, too until he heard a certain voice filter through the screen, ringing out in greeting across the room. Panic billowed out from his chassis so quick his fans turned on. No- he wasn’t ready yet. He clamped both servos over his face and stifled a sob. 

Something was very wrong. Rodimus dropped all play from his demeanor and quickly commed Swerve. _.:Keep Tailgate occupied. Don’t tell him Cyclonus is here. -And turn up the music while you’re at it:._

_.:Got it:._ Swerve replied and set off on his new mission.

Rodimus’s mind was racing. Cyclonus looked scared. _Cyclonus_ looked scared. What about Tailgate could have set him off? His optics bounced over the mech’s frame- looking for any sign of a fight. Bubbly dance music came on over the speakers and was quickly turned up to a volume it’d be difficult to hear over without the screen in the way.

“He’s not coming over here. You’re safe. Do I need to call Ratchet?” Rodimus said, inflection low, optics bright. He leaned over just a bit closer to Cyclonus but kept his servos away. He couldn’t piece together what was going on. Could Tailgate have hurt the mech? He’d be surprised- then again he always was. 

Cyclonus shook his head.

“Rung?”

“No- he’s,” Cyclonus managed, vocalizer distorting, vents heavy, “It’s me. It’s not him. It’s me.”

Rodimus was confused again. He looked over to Whirl who’d nearly stood up all the way, about to reach over the table, antenna vibrating. He had _Not_ expected that reaction. “Cyclonus, tell me what’s going on,” Rodimus managed, as level-headed as he could be seeing the stoic Cyclonus in tears.

“He’s going to abandon me,” Cyclonus choked out, trying to tone down a low-pitched, desperate wail. There. He’d said it. It hurt even more than when he was thinking it.

“What?” Rodimus said sounding irritated, pushing himself up onto his pedes- there was something missing here and it was beginning to grate on him.

“Rod!” Whirl barked to get the mech’s attention, “Like us.”

It took a second to sink in. Rodimus frowned and growled, “ _One word_ , Whirl, that’s all you needed to say. _Fuckssake_.” 

He looked back at Cyclonus again. The mech had his face buried in his servos and was curled over the table, shaking. All his anger fell away, replaced by a very familiar kind of melancholy- nostalgic, worn around the edges. He saw someone so mortally terrified of rejection- just barely happening upon a realization he wasn’t exactly who he thought he was. It was shattered dreams. It was inadequacy. It was self-loathing. _Primus_ how could he forget. 

Rodimus’s optics fell as he sat down again. He slowly reached out a servo to Cyclonus’ quivering shoulder but paused before touching. “Are you going to lash out if I touch you?” He was quiet, calm, and most importantly ready for an affirmative answer. 

He got none, Cyclonus was gone, swallowed up once again by his own thoughts. He took the risk and made contact, gentle as he could. The mech flinched under his touch but did not back away. “Cyclonus, come back to us,” Rodimus said softly, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Th-three months.” Cyclonus mumbled, almost completely muffled by his own servos, “I tried for _three months_ just to _touch_ something of what he was feeling for me. And I- I just can’t.”

Rodimus bit his glossa but let the mech continue.

“I can’t do it. It feels like I’m- I’m trying to become someone else. Nothing feels _right_ .” Cyclonus began to sob, “Led him on for this long -trying, pretending- and I can’t be what he needs from me after all. I can’t give him what he deserves. What kind of monster am I, I can’t _love_ him.”

Rodimus clenched his fist.

“Sooner or later he’s going to see. He’s going to find out and he’s going to _leave_. Going to find someone who can love him-”

“That’s enough,” Rodimus said finally, voice frayed at the edges, “That’s _enough_ .” His vents got heavier, “How can’t you see? You _fucking_ moron. You love him! You _do_!”

Cyclonus lifted his helm from the table to look at Rodimus.

“You’ve spent _three months_ agonizing over making him feel like his affection was requited. You’re here _crying_ because you’re afraid he’ll leave you. What was it you felt when you poured your spark into his?” Rodimus was no longer collected, his voice had an agonized whine to it and was raised almost loud enough to compete with the music. Tears were falling down his face, “I cannot _fathom_ why you’d forget all of that.”

Rodimus looked directly into Cyclonus’ optics, his own pleading with every fiber of his being.

“Did nobody tell you?” He whispered, his voice grew louder as his conviction grew stronger,  “That’s _love_ . You are not loveless because you don’t know what romance feels like. You are not _sparkless_ because you can’t reciprocate. For _fuck’s_ sake. The mech _worships_ the ground you stand on, if you think he can’t sense the same from you, you’re dead fucking wrong!”

The music had stopped. It wasn’t hard to recognize the voice coming from the cordoned off booth was Rodimus’s. He seemed really worked up about something too. The bar was much more crowded now than when Cyclonus had come in, but it wasn’t difficult to see the small white and blue shape pushing between people.

“Your feelings aren’t _lesser_ because they’re not romantic. Don’t let _anyone_ tell you how to love,” Rodimus said. It was only then he realized the silence behind him and straightened up in his seat before someone pushed the screen away.

“Cy, what’s going on?” Tailgate said. He looked from Rodimus to Whirl (who at this point seemed like he wanted to melt into the back of his seat, all optics on the sliver of booth they could see) and finally to Cyclonus. “I’ve been looking for you- Swerve said you’d probably show up eventually but you’re _here_ ,” He said nervously, “I want to know what’s wrong.”

Cyclonus just stared into Tailgate’s optics. It was hard to take in all Rodimus was saying when he could very well be devastated at any point now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Rodimus spat. He tasted a bitterness on his glossa, feelings he’d worked so hard to get rid of after so long. He got up from his seat. The conversation was wearing on him. He needed to stop thinking about it all, “Tell him, Cyclonus. Everything.”

Cyclonus watched as Rodimus left. Whirl pushed his way out too, feeling he’d done his part. It was only when he saw Tailgate begin to pull himself up onto the seat he said anything, “No. Not here.”

Tailgate looked up into Cyclonus’ optics again. He saw pain, turmoil. He’d never seen Cyclonus this worked up about something and it scared him. “Alright,” he said quietly and hopped down.

Cyclonus was ready to push through the crowds, but the people parted. He put a servo on Tailgate’s shoulder as they weaved around tables and made their way out the door. They were going to take a long walk. He was going to tell him everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Had the idea for aroace!Cyclonus for about a week now and can't get it out of my head. I wanna thank primalwarden @ tumblr for yelling excitedly with me about aro headcanons.
> 
> This one's dedicated to the series of aphobic posts I keep seeing whenever I'm inevitably justified in my suspicion that op hates aces/aros that got me angry enough to actually do something out of spite. 
> 
> But more importantly it's dedicated to every Aro out there struggling to come to terms with their identity. You are not lesser, nor are you broken or lost or 'missing out.' Your love is not inferior because it is not romantic. You are whole.
> 
> PS. Listen I know the title's cheesy, alright, it could be so much more, though.


End file.
